today. i'm unsatisfied. and this seems like an unjust statement considering the morsels of bliss and revelry and spice my imagination and soul has chewed to bits:
the sky is such a mysterious cliche and the implication of romance in every little tinged orangey purpley cloud clump is just not enough anymore. tonight it was the positioning and leaks of techno-apricot cruising through the grey suits...made me run in a wiggly line. weaving through fence posts by the 96 line. skipping down fraser street with my eyes closed and into a frenzy of strained breaths before the pep and trip of being unbalanced on cobblestones triumphed. wow.
satisfaction of some ilk simmers in i suppose. 'spring cleaning' - as it's known - can, i've discovered, bestow such a feeling of acheivement. (gosh, i sound like a perfectly happy house mother advertising 'gleam clean' wearing a crisp shirt and smilingly shaking her head at her 'cute' little backpack wearing, rough n tumble child and he grubs up the walls a bit so mum has a task to engage in for the morning.) there's something about peeling strips of grime out of the crevice where the floor meets the skirting board. there's something special about that. it licks my sensory cravings like nothing else. oh and the way polished glass winks and flashes its shimmer like a red carpet bimbo. it's kinda like working a piece of stringy mango flesh out of your tooth gaps. amusement? success? all two? all two. satisfied? unsatisfied.
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